Unforgettable
by Kingston Ryan
Summary: Nineteen-year-old Connor has no idea how little he knows about personal relationships until he accidentally breaks into a house and encounters a young woman who he just can't seem to get out of his mind. His uncertainty about these feelings awaken many other questions about who he is, and what kind of person he wants to become. [Connor x OC]
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Connor could barely hear the shouts and the heavy footsteps behind him; the sounds were muffled by the thumping sound of his heart in his ears. It felt like he had been running for ages and no matter where he turned, there were more of them, rallied by their peers and eager to give chase. Sweat poured down the sides of his face and for a brief moment he regretted his coat.

He took a sudden and sharp left into an alley which was empty, and thanked the stars for his late but eventual luck. With great precision he jumped up several crates stacked like stairs and pushed off at the top, grabbing a hanging sign for a tavern and hauling himself on top of it. There were many options for which way to go, but he had to make a decision quickly before his pursuers caught up, and he accepted that what he really needed was somewhere to hide until things calmed down. Trusting nothing but his instincts he gracefully hopped from signpost to signpost, the way he would do in the forest with the trees, taking the alleyway straight ahead as long as it remained clear. The footsteps that had once chased him were quieter and slower now.

_Good, they lost me_, Connor thought to himself, allowing the corner of his mouth to turn up in coy triumph. He had to remind himself not to get too cocky though, or he might put himself in danger all over again, the way he usually did.

"Hey!" A deep voice from below him rumbled. It was a town crier who was certainly loud enough to bring attention down on him. Connor paused, standing on a narrow beam and gripping the edge of a roof with both hands, and glanced behind him. Like a thundering flock of gulls they came running – he could hear them getting close, they must have only been a few blocks away – and he wasted no more time contemplating. He pulled himself up onto the rooftop and picked up his pace again. His boots barely gripped the shingles and despite his quick reflexes, he could feel himself skidding more with every step. He refused to slow down, too filled with pride to entertain the idea that he could fall off a rooftop. No, only the stupid soldiers did that.

With the building coming to an end fairly quickly, Connor readied himself for the leap he would need to take to get to the next roof. He planted and pushed off, but at the last moment his foot slipped, and his jump lost most of its momentum.

He reached out for the next nearest thing, knowing there was no way he'd be able to grab the edge of the roof at this distance. Fortunately, his fingers caught a second-story window sill and his fall ended abruptly. Without thinking too much about what he was doing, mind racing and panting like a dog, he pulled himself into the room the window belonged to and collapsed onto the floor. He lay perfectly still for a few moments until his head cleared, and then he realized what he was doing: lying on his back, vulnerable, exhausted, and in a strange place. He listened for any sounds of movement in the room with his eyes closed and heard nothing. Exercising great caution, he got to his feet and examined his surroundings.

He seemed to be in a bedroom. It was a decent size but absolutely filled with furniture – a bed, a dresser, a trunk, a dressing table with a mirror and a large partition for getting changed – with clothes strewn on the floor. Connor couldn't imagine Achilles letting him throw his clothes all over the room like that. Not that he had many clothes anyway, or needed them for that matter. The bed was unmade with the covers all pushed down at the end and it looked like several pairs of shoes had been kicked underneath. Wax from several candles on the dresser and table was caked along their ornate holders and had formed solid puddles at the base. Jewelry was littered around the candles, hats were hanging from the changing partition and the trunk had been left open to expose some heavy-looking coats and furs for the winter months. Still, even with the mess, the room smelled sweet, like perfume. Connor briefly considered what kind of person would own all these expensive-looking things and then just leave them scattered all over the place. He absent-mindedly picked up the nearest piece of clothing to him on the floor – initially thinking it was a blouse, but when the skirt came with it he realized it was a dress – and turned it over in his hands. It was beautifully made, with hand-beading along the collar. It reminded him of the type of beading his mother would spend weeks intricately weaving into clothing for the women of the tribe. Unexpectedly, Connor felt a strong pang of loneliness, trying not to think of the agony on his mother's face as she lay trapped under that burning log, or about how his entire tribe had been lost to him. He realized he was clutching the dress tightly, crumpling the fabric in his fingers.

"What are you doing!?" A shrill female voice rang through the room and Connor quickly dropped the dress while spinning around to face the source of the sound. Instinctively he placed his hand at his hip, fingers curling around the handle of his tomahawk.

He met eyes with a young woman who looked only a few years younger than him; likely no older than seventeen. She was clutching a parasol in both hands, raised as if she was going to strike him with it but lost the nerve halfway up. Connor opened his mouth to explain himself, to apologize, but no sound came out. He simply stared at her, dumbstruck, taking her appearance in. She had pale blonde hair coiled into a loose bun at the base of her neck, a few stray pieces brushing her cheeks or sticking to her forehead in the heat. Her skin was almost as light as her hair. Even her clothes were pastel; a soft blue blouse tucked into a beige skirt clung to her arms and chest.

"Well?" She seemed to be attempting to sound menacing, but her voice was noticeably shaking. Connor felt terrible for invading her home, and wanted to explain himself so badly, but no matter how many times he opened and closed his mouth, he couldn't force the words out. All he could form was a string of throaty gasps and stammers. Suddenly, her face seemed to soften considerably, and she lowered her parasol.

"Do you… even speak English?"

Connor swallowed hard. "I… uh…" He lowered his eyes. For some reason he was perfectly capable of running on rooftops and driving blades into the necks of men, but in the face of a pretty girl, he found himself completely flustered and – not proudly – afraid.

A loud and sudden crash from the ground floor of the house caused both Connor and the young woman to start. It sounded like the door had been kicked off its hinges and smashed on the floor. Angry, commanding voices were enough to convince Connor that the Red Coats had in fact seen where he ended up and were now only a floor below him, shouting orders at whoever was downstairs to allow a search of the house. He looked to the window where he entered, then to the opposite window, then back to the girl in front of him, who had opened her mouth as if she were about to scream but was so shocked that she lost her voice partway through. There were footsteps on the stairs now; Connor knew he had seconds to leave but still hesitated. He was usually never so indecisive. Something about the pale blonde before him had seemingly taken away every instinct he relied on.

Before he had the chance to contemplate any longer, the bedroom door flew open and smashed into the wall it was connected to. Two soldiers appeared in the opening.

"Halt!" They shouted in unison. Connor did the opposite, and in two leaps ended up on the windowsill opposite the one he came in through. He took a calculated risk to look over his shoulder, at the girl, who was staring back at him, wide-eyed. The soldiers were struggling to get their guns off their backs in the cramped doorframe, giving Connor just enough time to finally press himself enough to get two words out.

"I'm sorry."

Two bullets narrowly missed him, splintering the wall beside him. He quickly jumped from the window, landing precariously on a signpost, and from there jumped onto a few barrels and then onto the street. He wasted no more time looking around – he needed to move, and now. Despite his deep love of heights and the rush of running on rooftops, the street was a much easier surface to achieve high speeds, and he had disappeared from the alley in a matter of seconds.

Connor finally slowed to a brisk walking pace as he reached the edge of the city proper. The farmers on the town's outskirts never really paid him any attention, so even though he kept his hood up, he was no longer paranoid about running into a soldier or having a town crier single him out. He took a few long, deep breaths and considered his earlier encounter. Questions raced through his mind and he felt a strange sense of anxiety despite the soothing surrounding of trees and grass. His reaction time had never been that slow, he had never been unable to speak in someone's presence before, and he had never dawdled in a life-threatening situation just to make pleasantries.

_What is going on with me_, he wondered, gripping a nearby tree branch and hoisting himself up so he could climb from tree to tree. He could feel the rough bark on his skin where he had cut the fingers off of his gloves and a small smile overcame him. No matter how bad he felt, being in the treetops made him feel safe, comforted, and at home. He raised his eyes to the sky for a brief moment and thought of his mother watching over him. It wasn't often he craved his mother's attention, especially now that he was nineteen, thinking himself an adult that could take care without an adult's intervention. Still, there were times where he wished he could go to her for advice. She had been a wise woman – despite her foolish taste in men – and Connor knew she would have guided him properly through anything. Lowering his gaze he felt a bit guilty. Achilles had watched over him well and trained him to be a skilled assassin; there was no real reason to want for his mother. At least, that was what he told himself to keep from feeling heavy with the knowledge that no matter how much he longed to be able to speak with her, or just sit in her company.

He shook his head once to clear it, feeling his loose hair brush against his cheeks. With another deep breath he continued on his way back to the Homestead. His mind drifted back to the blonde girl and her house. She had such big green eyes. He wished she hadn't been staring at him in fear. If only he hadn't been so stupid and been able to tell her what happened; why he was in her house. In her bedroom. _Oh god, I was in her bedroom_. Connor felt heat rush into his face as he realized just how truly invasive his home invasion had been.

Then again, she must not have been that afraid, as she hadn't screamed for help – screamed at all, actually, even when soldiers broke down her door – or hit him, even though it looked like she had at one point intended to. Maybe he wasn't as threatening as he feared. This thought actually caused him to pause in a fir tree, making a face as he realized the implications of thinking that way. If he hadn't even scared an unarmed young woman, maybe he wasn't the vicious assassin he thought himself to be. He imagined Achilles laughing softly but triumphantly at this admission of inferiority. Ever defiant, he straightened his back and jumped to a tree further than he knew he should have, purposely acting boldly as a step to prove to himself that he was just as strong, brave and competent as any assassin in the Brotherhood. He remained unconvinced, barely catching the branch he was aiming for, but he would never let Achilles, or anyone, know that.

Vainly, he attempted to push thoughts of the girl in the blue blouse out of his mind. Until today only the thought of his training and hunting down the Templars had stuck in his head for so long. He let out a sigh through his nose and hopped to a lower branch, having noticed a pair of foxes playfully running through the grass. He held his position to watch them. The creatures made little barking noises as they chased each other through clover and flowers, allowing the perfume-y aroma of spring to waft into Connor's nose. It had been some time since he had been able to appreciate the beauty of nature without being preoccupied about spilling someone's blood. As the foxes jumped on one another, Connor wondered if there was something in the air causing him to feel so strange.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"But Achilles, I didn't mean to…"

"What you meant to do means nothing, Connor. What you have done is all that matters. And you know better than to enter an innocent person's home, especially not when your identity could be put in jeopardy, as well as her life. The soldiers saw you with that girl – she could be held for questioning if they believe she was harboring or helping you to escape."

Connor's gaze immediately fell to the floor as he thought about his actions potentially causing that young woman any trouble. He pictured her in one of their grimy prison cells, shivering, her blonde hair loose and dirty as she awaits a trial. His teeth clenched tightly together at the image. With a deep breath he squeezed his eyes tightly shut and shook his head sharply, trying to convince himself that Achilles was purposely trying to make him think of the worst possible scenario in order to reinforce the lesson. When he opened his eyes, his mentor was looking at him with a slightly softened expression. Still, the old man wagged his finger in Connor's direction as he continued milling around the room.

"You should probably stay clear of that house for some time. Actually, that entire section of the town should likely be avoided."

"Avoided?" Against his better judgment, Connor started to protest, and heard disappointment ringing clearly in his own voice. "But… but…" Once again he was stammering to find words.

"But nothing, Connor. We don't endanger the innocent."

"I… there was no… they were after me! They barely looked at her!"

Achilles arched his eyebrow. "You explained they broke down the door of her home, and left two bullets in the wall of this young maiden's bedroom."

"Well, yes…"

"And you have no possible way to know if she has been taken in by the Red Coats or the Templars as a possible aid to a fugitive and Assassin?"

"Well, no…"

"Then my point stands, I'm afraid."

"Achilles, you're being unfair! I am perfectly capable, I see no reason why I shouldn't have free run of the city. They didn't catch me this time and they won't catch me next time. The residents of that house can convince the guards they had nothing to do with my being there!"

"Connor," Achilles lowered himself onto the velvety red couch carefully. "Listen to yourself. Why on earth are you contesting this so strongly?"

The young man struggled to keep a straight face as he contemplated how to answer. He could feel his mentor observing every tic, every blink, every uncomfortable adjustment he made, but once again couldn't come up with the words. However, it seemed he didn't need to, because a strong look of understanding suddenly washed across Achilles' face.

"Don't go being foolish. There are more important tasks at hand."

Connor opened his mouth to continue the argument, but the way Achilles' lips tightened made him reconsider. He knew there was no winning against the old man who still thought him too young and naïve to understand the world around him. It was frustrating, and while Connor tried to rationalize in his head that Achilles was only looking out for his best interests, he couldn't help but feel that there was some self-serving purpose to keep his trainee on a predetermined path. Either way, Connor closed his mouth and simply told himself that what Achilles didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"Very well."

"Good boy," Achilles tapped his cane on the floor emphatically. "Bring me a drink, would you?"

Connor moved about his bedroom silently, having memorized every creaky floorboard and uneven patch in the floor. He hadn't even closed his eyes when he got into bed hours earlier, even though he recognized that not sleeping made him sluggish and dull. Thoughts whipped around in his head; from his training, to his father, and most importantly to the blonde girl. He needed to make sure she hadn't been taken in for questioning. Later, he would need to apologize. As he pulled on his clothing he silently mouthed the words he intended to say to her: who he was, what he was doing, how he had ended up in her room, and why he was so sorry for invading her home. As soon as he confirmed she was alright, he would return the next day to have their conversation.

As he placed a foot on his windowsill, ready to climb down the outer paneling of the house, he cast a glance back at his tomahawk lying on the bedside table. He had consciously left it when he was getting dressed, telling himself that under cover of darkness, and doing nothing but peering through a window, he shouldn't have any need for a weapon. Still, he disliked the idea of going anywhere completely unarmed, and with a heavy sigh, he retrieved his tomahawk and secured it tightly in his belt.

The night air was cool on Connor's face as he rode his favourite of Achilles' mounts along the pathway back to Boston. With his hood down, the wind blew his loose hair around his face like a mane, and sometimes the beads woven into the strands near the front slapped against his cheek. It felt good to be doing something of his own accord for a change, instead of following orders and doing repetitive training under someone else's eye. Even though he wore the white coat of an assassin, he considered himself in this moment free – just a nineteen year old making a decision for himself. The sound of branches snapping under the horse's hooves as they rode reminded Connor of his childhood hunting trips, and how many prey he had lost to a careless foot placed on a twig. For a fleeting second he wondered what he'd have turned out like if he had continued to grow up among his tribe. If his mother hadn't been killed. If he'd never met Charles Lee, or learned about his father's true identity.

He shook his head very slightly to clear it of thought. _There's no going back there; there's no sense wondering about it_.

Connor pulled his mount to a slow walk as he neared the city's limits, and dismounted while it was still moving. He used the reins to tether it to a thick tree and continued along the path on foot until he could see the shapes and shadows of houses in the moonlight. He pulled his hood up and touched his tomahawk out of instinct. There were guards patrolling not too far ahead; their uniforms were easily identifiable, even in the dark. Connor moved out of sight, watching their movements. Easy enough to evade if they kept to the pattern. He crept through an enclosure where some kind of vegetables had been planted and made his way over to the farmhouse, scaling the building and crouching momentarily on the side of the roof. Even with the guards below him, he'd be invisible from the rooftops, and he relaxed.

It took him a few attempts to remember exactly where the house was, especially since he had initially encountered it by accident. Eventually he recognized the window frame, and clambered up the side of the adjacent building to see into the bedroom.

"Iah tewake'nikonhraien-ta's," He muttered under his breath when he realized the curtains were drawn. The whole point of this outing was to be quick and simple, but he needed to know she was alright. He hesitated only a moment before carefully leaping to the roof that belonged to the blonde girl's house, and climbing quietly down to her bedroom window. Gripping the top of the frame with one hand, he reached forward and parted the curtains slightly. The room was too dark for him to see anything properly – even with his trained eyes – and he winced slightly as he pulled the fabric back even further. _Waking her up would be all I need right about now. Achilles would never let me hear the end of it, and I'd probably terrify her._

He didn't have to worry for long. She wasn't in her bed. There was no one in the room. Connor felt his heart sink into his stomach and almost lost his grip on the frame. There was a momentary glimmer of hope that maybe she was on the ground floor of the house, and letting his curiosity get the better of him, the young man eased himself through the window. The way the floor creaked under his feet drove him insane despite his vain attempts to remind himself that he didn't know this building the way he knew the Homestead.

He glanced around the room and confirmed it was exactly as he had left it, right down to the dress he had absent-mindedly picked up. The bed was still unmade, giving him no indication whether or not she'd been previously in it or not.

Connor paused at her doorway to listen. The stairs led directly down into pitch blackness, and nothing but silence greeted him. Slowly, deliberately, he made his way down the stairs in a couched position, suddenly aware of how much his white jacket stood out in the otherwise dark home. At the bottom of the stairs, there was still no sound. A closed door stood to his right, and otherwise the living area was empty. He supposed the door lead to another bedroom and contemplated opening it. _What if she's sleeping on the floor because she's scared to be alone?_ Connor wondered, the guilt eating away him from the inside. There was no question that he had to confirm she was alright.

As soon as he pushed the door open, Connor felt the pangs of regret for not listening to Achilles. If he hadn't come here, he could have put the entire matter out of his mind and moved on to what were considered more important matters. More training. But now he faced a completely empty room: a clean room with a neatly made bed. Nobody was here. The house was empty.

Connor's teeth came together hard. There was a fire in his chest and his head swam with the possibilities. He allowed himself the momentary pleasure of considering that maybe the entire ordeal had forced them to go visit some aunt or grandparent in New York, or even to just stay with a neighbor for a night or two. But he sensed things were grimmer than that. Nothing in the house felt right; there was an eerie quality to the air, and a rug on the floor had been disturbed, as if there had been a struggle near the front door.

The holding cells for those awaiting trial was on the other side of town, and Connor thought over his options. Achilles would notice him missing almost immediately in the morning, and there was no way he would get back in time if he went all the way across Boston. Even now he was pressed for time if he wanted to go completely undiscovered. However, he was also convinced that something was seriously wrong and that it was his duty to correct it, considering it was he who had gotten innocent people mixed up in the assassins' business. Connor ran his fingers over the handle of his tomahawk and was suddenly grateful he'd brought it along. He glanced down at his hidden blade as well – often forgetting he had it strapped to his forearm – and decided that he was equipped enough to covertly get in and out of the court's holding cells. Whether or not he'd be able to break the blonde girl and whoever was with her out tonight was another question, but right now all that he could think about was making sure she was alive and unharmed. He would never be able to forgive himself if someone hurt such a delicate and beautiful person.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Connor squinted in the new daylight, perched on the wall that barricaded the town's holding cells. The sun was just barely visible over the rooftops and cast long shadows onto the ground below. Connor considered how much time he might have before the shadows got shorter, removing the only cover he'd have in the yard. He couldn't foresee a way to climb down inside the building, so crossing the yard ahead of him was really the only option.

He landed on three points with a soft thud, pausing a moment to scan the area. Confident that no one had noticed him so far, he got to his feet – keeping a deep bend in his knees – and moved towards the back door of the building. There were no windows on this side, and Connor sensed relatively little movement coming from inside. _Are there even any guards here at all?_ He wondered, smirking at little at the thought that they might all still be asleep this early in the morning. His joy was quickly quashed however, realizing that Achilles would be waking up with the light, and would make short time noticing that Connor was missing. The young man tried to put his mentor's wrath out of his mind for the time being. He had already made his choice.

With one hand on the door handle, pressing his shoulder against the wood, Connor gave a gentle push. The door opened a crack. He held his breath, waiting for a guard to come investigate, and flexed his free hand to feel the blade mechanism taught on his wrist. When nothing happened, he slowly exhaled and pushed the door a bit further. Still nothing came. Connor was starting to worry that he hadn't encountered a single obstacle so far in this quest to find the blonde girl. It set him on edge and he felt uneasy in the pit of his stomach, no matter how much he attempted to ignore it. Finally he had opened the door completely, letting it swing open of its own accord while he kept his shoulder braced against the edge of the frame. There was a shuffling sound from inside. Footsteps. Connor felt a release of tension in his chest. The footsteps were slow, likely belonging to a guard who had been sleeping on the job and was awakened by the sound of the door scraping against the floor. As the guard approached Connor's position, the assassin flicked his wrist to release his blade. When the silhouette of a man with the telltale hat of a loyalist came into view, Connor left him no time to react before swiftly grabbing him by the collar and throwing him to the ground. The man opened his mouth to shout but it was silenced by the gurgles of blood in his throat as Connor's blade was driven deep into his jugular. The young man withdrew his blade quickly, wiping it on his pants before standing straight. Listening intently for another guard, Connor was satisfied when none came, and cautiously entered the building.

The room was poorly lit, especially since it appeared that there were no windows at all. _No sunlight… must be to keep the prisoners weak._ Connor's mouth tightened as he inched forward through the dim hallway. He could see the opening ahead, where the cells were, lined with brighter burning torches. As he crept further along he became increasingly aware of the sound his boots made on the stone beneath him, and was careful not to lose his footing on the uneven floor. The light from the torches illuminated the first few cells in his range of sight; there were dark shapes curled up on thin piles of hay in the corner of each, which Connor soon recognized as sleeping prisoners.

He approached the fist cell with great caution and a little dread, but the figure there was quite obviously male. Definitely not the blonde girl he sought. Still, it crossed his mind that it was likely many of the captives didn't deserve to be here. Taking a long breath and holding it in, Connor reminded himself that he was here for a very specific purpose and couldn't afford to be distracted by questionable morality. That could come later. He gave a quick glance left and right – ensuring no more guards were on their way – and moved on.

_I wish I knew her name_, he thought, absent-mindedly embarrassed that he was working so hard to save someone whose name he didn't even know. _I wish I could call out to her. That would speed this up._ Logically he knew yelling would be unwise, but the air was thick and damp and the risk of getting caught grew with every passing minute. He walked by cell after cell of dark, unmoving bodies without recognizing a single one. He could feel himself being overcome with anxiety that she might not be here after all, and all this effort was for nothing. _No, she has to be here, there isn't anywhere else for them to take her_. Connor approached the last two cells with an unfamiliar tightness in his chest. Looking to one, and then the other, his heart sank when the first cell was empty and the second contained another man. He lifted his fist, ready to punch the wall out of frustration, before he realized how much he had been overcome by emotion and steadied himself.

_Think, Connor_, he told himself, looking around for any indication of where to go next. The door of the empty cell was slightly ajar: maybe the blonde girl had been here briefly but moved somewhere during the night. It was a long shot but she was young and female, while it seemed all the other prisoners were men. If the loyalists controlling the building were merciful, they may have brought her somewhere private. Where was her family though? Who lived with her? There had been another bedroom at the house, presumably a parent's. Was one of the men in here her father? Connor's head swam with too many questions – he needed to get back on track. He needed to find her and leave before he got himself into more trouble.

At the opposite end of the hallway there was a staircase. When Connor approached the bottom step, he could hear low voices coming from the second floor. _No footsteps. They must be sitting down_. He strained to hear the conversation in order to count the number of voices, and settled on three. He palmed the top of his tomahawk and ran through a plan in his head. _If I take one out before they notice me, I can probably handle fighting two at once…_ But he was hesitating. He cast a glance back at the door he had come through from the yard, still open and allowing yellow sunlight to leak in, and wavered on his decision to press forward. If he had brought heat down on himself from the incident yesterday, this escapade could become a flaming inferno if he got caught. He shook his head, feeling his loose, shoulder-length hair brush against his cheeks, before pulling up his hood and replacing his sense of doubt with a firm resolution. _No one is going to catch me, and there won't be anyone left to tell the city guards._ Connor smirked.

Warm blood sprayed out of the last guard's neck as soon as Connor withdrew his blade and the quick burst splashed across the young man's face and hood. He ignored it and held perfectly still for a moment, waiting for something – anything – to go wrong. Nothing happened. He relaxed his body a bit and took in his surroundings. There was a door to both sides of the dining area he currently stood in, and another set of stairs going up just behind him. Trying to ease his heavy breathing from the combat he slowly moved to the door at his right. He could hear nothing, and, deciding to consider all of his options before engaging anything else, walked over to the door at his left.

It seemed the decision was made for him. As he pressed his ear against the old, cracked wood of the door, he could hear soft, feminine sobs coming from inside. Connor's heart starting pumping wildly with excitement that he had finally found her. Without thinking at all, he flung the door open.

A pair of large green eyes met his as the door thudded against the wall of the tiny bedroom. The blonde girl was sitting on the bed, her legs hanging off one side, her hair pulled loose from its bun and falling over her shoulders. Her pale face was stained with salty streaks but she had stopped crying the moment Connor opened the door. He was frozen on the spot, taking in her appearance, trying to discern if she had been injured. Her wrists were tied together and tied to the frame of the bed, but with plenty of slack so she could move around a bit. The skirt of the white nightgown she wore was torn on one side in long, purposeful tears. _Someone must have tried to rip it right off her, that's why she's up here and not in the cells_, Connor rationalized, grinding his teeth at the idea that someone would try to harm an innocent girl.

"What are you doing here?" Her words snapped Connor out of his trance and he quickly refocused on her face. "Who are you, anyway?"

"My name is Connor," He spoke without really thinking, suddenly finding his voice as the urgency of their situation dawned on him, and shut the door behind him. "I came here to find you."

"Find me?" Her voice sounded choked, like she was holding back more tears. "You don't even know me. How did you know I was here? And oh my goodness, you have blood all over your face! What happened out there?"

Connor came up beside her as she spoke, and knelt down while extending his hidden blade. She jumped a little at the _snick_ sound it made on release. He was uncertain how to answer her without sounding completely crazy, so he attempted to stall by cutting the rope and then setting to work on untying her wrists. She held still, and didn't seem to be afraid of him. He was glad for that.

"I'm Emma," She finally said, once Connor freed her hands. He watched her rub the raw skin with both hands and then met his eyes again. "Thank you."

"We need to leave."

"But… my home…" Emma didn't budge. "They know where I live. And my uncle…"

"I'll have to come back for him," The young man was starting to get concerned. Daylight would have completely broken by now and it was too quiet. More guards would certainly be showing up for the shift change and the pile of dead bodies he had left in the dining area wasn't exactly subtle. However, Emma still wasn't moving.

"You haven't told me how you found me."

Connor had already been walking back to the door, but he stopped dead in his tracks at her words. He sighed quietly, realizing there was little option other than to be honest. But this really wasn't the time to have that conversation.

"I will explain it to you, once we leave," He opened the door a crack and peered out, then turned back to face her. "I promise."

"I really think you need to explain it now," Her tone was soft but firm, and in fairness to her, it was an extremely strange situation. "I mean, first you're in my house, then the city guard breaks down my door chasing after you… Then suddenly I'm being dragged from my home and thrown into a horrible dark cell. Now you're standing in front of me again. I don't understand, and I'd like to. Please."

Connor could feel himself faltering. He was getting that strange tightness in his chest again, his throat was closing up, his breathing became laboured. The way her hair embraced her neck and shoulders and the way her eyes glimmered with the remainder of tears made him feel weak and uneasy. He couldn't decide if he liked the feeling or not.

"Connor."

The sound of his name on her lips gave him goosebumps. "I… I ended up in your room because of my own mistake. I was attempting to jump from roof to roof and I slipped. The first thing I caught as I was falling was your windowsill, and I pulled myself inside." He considered himself like that the more he spoke to her, the easier words came to him.

"What? Why on earth were you jumping on the rooftops?"

"I was running from the city guard."

"Why?"

Connor exhaled through his nose, starting to feel impatient. "It's complicated. Anyway, I felt like something bad may have happened once I got back to the country, and it seemed my obligation to ensure you weren't in any trouble with the law, since I had caused that trouble in the first place."

"And you found me here?"

"Where else would they bring you?" He glanced out the door again. "Now, can we continue this conversation another time?"

She seemed satisfied with that answer for now and got to her feet. Connor did a quick once-over and was glad to see she was wearing night slippers. _Good, I won't have to carry her_. All the same, she was wearing a nightgown, and their presence in the street wouldn't exactly go unnoticed. He knew that if they could cross the street, and get to the rooftop, he could safely lead her back to where he'd left his horse with little notice. There would be enough bustle on the street by this point to cover any noise they'd make, and the nighttime rooftop guards would be long dispatched. There was just one problem with that plan, and only one way Connor could think to fix it. Without giving Emma any warning, he knelt down in front of her and gripped the fabric of her nightgown. In one movement he tore a large chunk of it clean off, leaving her with a dress that ended at her knees.

"Connor! What…!"

He got to his feet and took her by the hand. "You're going to need to be able to climb."


End file.
